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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22704052">One Shots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SortaCats/pseuds/SortaCats'>SortaCats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>One Shot Collection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:28:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22704052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SortaCats/pseuds/SortaCats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Machine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingInTheCorner/gifts">HidingInTheCorner</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I do not remember much of my life before this started. There are flashes, bits and pieces of a life that does not feel like mine. There is a brunette woman with a pair of bright green eyes, cheerfully greeting me and the smell of a food that I cannot remember the name of. I used to reach for the memories, but they always faded before I could touch them.<br/>
Now, everything feels numb. I do not know why I agreed to this but I will continue to do it. Everything blurs together, now. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a memory, superimposed on reality. The burning pain of a gunshot wound, a sword going through my stomach, an arrow sticking out of my shoulder. The crack of an automatic weapon, the clang of clashing swords, the loud crack of an explosion, the crackling of a spreading fire, the twang of a bow. The metallic scent of blood and death is the only constant anymore, it’s almost comforting. I only see in black, white, and shades of gray. The memories of the life that no longer exist are my only source of color.<br/>
Sometimes, it feels like my body is no longer my own. Everything has become automatic. I do not even know if I am human anymore. I no longer feel happiness, sorrow, anger, or contentment. I no longer know my own name. There’s a name on the chest of my uniform but I cannot see it clearly. My body automatically responds to whatever the soldiers call me. I don’t verbally acknowledge them, and I cannot remember the last time I spoke. I hear the other soldiers talking about me when they think I cannot hear them but I do not care. It means nothing to me. Their existence does not affect me, I can still do my job without them. My job is my life, I know that. Even if I cannot remember what my job is, I know that I am doing it. I no longer remember who gave me this job but it hardly matters. That knowledge will not affect my work.<br/>
My expression is cold, I survey my surroundings as I step over the corpse of a dead civilian. It would be a gruesome sight to most, as it has been damaged beyond recognition. I cannot even tell if it is male or female. A soldier falls, a hole in their forehead a split second before I hear the distinct crack of a high powered rifle. I duck behind the husk of a burned out car as I scan the buildings for the shooter. Another soldier falls, a hole in their chest. I spot the flash of a round exiting a rifle barrel. I set the barrel of my carbine on the hood of the car and peek through the sights. I center the crosshairs fifteen centimeters above where I saw the flash and breathe in, slowly. Halfway through the exhale, I gently squeeze the trigger. A subtle shift in the shadow tells me I did not miss. One of the remaining soldiers mutters, “Goddamned Killing Machine.” It seems appropriate.<br/>
I stand up and move forward, there’s more to be done before my job is over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Steel and Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A stone runs down a length of crimson steel, producing a shing that breaks the tentative silence. Violet eyes snap open, staring toward the sword’s owner. A set of unfocused alizarin orbs stare back. The owner of the purple eyes is used to the sound of a sword being sharpened. It may be unnecessary, due to the nature of the ensorcelled blade, but her partner had taken to sharpening it anyways. It had been explained to the violet eyed teen as a musical melody, the stone singing the praises of the steel blade it was sharpening. She could understand that; to her, there was nothing better than the twang of a bow being fired. A serene smile makes its way onto her face as she watches her partner’s eyes glaze over. Their hand faults and the stone misses the blade. Her partner doesn’t notice, and the stone continues its path, cutting through the air. The violet eyed girl whistles, drawing her partner out of the reverie. She gets a tentative smile and a whispered thank you for her efforts. She smirks back, nodding her head once. They did not need to speak to understand one another, for their bond was forged in steel and blood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She spun her hand cannon once before flicking open the cylinder, ejecting eight spent rounds. She methodically reloaded, one round at a time, before clicking the cylinder back into place. A pull of the trigger sent a Light-infused projectile at a shade, easily dispelling it. She pulled the trigger another seven times, easily dispelling five beowulves, a banshee, and one shade. She holstered the handcrafted hand cannon, lovingly named <i>Cursed Existence<i>, and unslung her shotgun, </i>Slayer’s Honor</i>. Another creature of darkness appeared, a basilisk. She pulled the shotgun’s trigger, racking the pump a split second later. She pushed her Light toward her legs and took off into a sprint. She slung the shotgun onto her back and pulled out her hand cannon. She flicked the cylinder open and smoothly reloaded it, before holstering it. Using her Light, she materialized a white kris and cut through the swath of darkspawn. The Light weapon easily dispelled the wretched creatures, clearing her path. She ceased the flow of Light to her legs and slowed to a halt. The bleak forest around her faded into a white colored room. A metallic voice announced a new record, making her give a slight smile. She exited the room through the opening that appeared, making her way through the light blue corridor. She would earn the title of <i>Lightbearer<i>, she would make sure of that.</i></i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Existence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How odd. It had watched the empty void that was Its existence for as long as It could remember. In this time, nothing had happened. At least, until now. It watched Her appear in the void and become sentient. She started to do <i>something<i>, that It could not identify. As time progressed, It realized what She was doing. She was creating. What, It could not identify. However, It knew that whatever this thing was, it was important to Her. Time progressed once again. It viewed Her thoughts, as She named herself and Her </i>creation</i>.<br/>
Life. She planned on creating Life. Her creation grew, starting as a luminous ball of gas. A <i>star<i>, She called it. The </i>space</i>, she created around the creation grew with it, creating more stars. It continued to observe Her, absentmindedly wondering why It had never thought to create. Those thoughts were summarily dismissed. It had no want or need for such things. It was content with Its existence as it was.<br/>
Her creation continued to expand, the space expanding on its own. She created newer things. She started with a spherical mass, one that orbited one of Her stars. She called it a <i>planet<i>. Along with it, came new Beings. One was the mass itself. Another became the gasses the celestial body contained within what She called an atmosphere. Along with them, came new concepts. Night became the dark part of the planet’s orbit; Day became the light part. With Night and Day came Light and Darkness. It still did nothing but observe these young concepts. Eventually, the new concepts created their own, along with primitive creatures spread throughout the cluster of Her stars, to inhabit the planets She created.
All was right, for a time. The primitive creatures became sentient, bringing their own creations into existence. And then one of the primitive creatures changed. The naturally Light-aligned creature fell to the Darkness. Along with the Fall, came a new concept, Evil. With Evil, came a counterpart, Good. Naturally, they did not get along. Good opposed Evil throughout Her universe. Yet, It did not interfere, content to watch Her creations war against one another. As their fight progressed, new things came into existence. War and Peace appeared, along with Death. It watched as the primitive creatures struggled with one another, some aligning with Good, others aligning with Evil.
As their conflicts evolved, It pondered itself. It felt no drive to align with one of the young concepts. Even She choose a side, along with the concepts She considered to be Her children. It did not care for these matters, It simply was Its own concept. It was not Neutral, as it had come into existence with its siblings, Good and Evil. Such things were trivial to It, as the conflicts evolved. Eventually one of the trivial conflicts destroyed one of Her planets. The creation shattered to pieces, all Life on it falling to Death. It was then, She interfered. She separated the Dark creations from the Light creations, the Evil from the Good, the beings of Life from the beings of Death, the creations of War from the creations of Peace.<br/>
Yet, It did nothing but ponder itself. As the primitive creations continued to find ways to war with each other. As Time progressed, It came to realize what it was. It was neither Life, nor Death. It was not Good, It was not Evil. It was not War, neither was It Peace. It simply </i>existed</i>. Yes, that is what It was. Existence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Immortal Dance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two eighteen-year-old teenagers stand on a beautiful field. Crimson eyes stared at a set of violent orbs. No words were spoken and no moves were taken. What felt like an eternity passed before them. And then, ever so slowly, identical smirks slipped onto their faces. One of them lunged forward, bringing their crimson ulfbehrt down in a slash. The violet eyed girl steps into the swing, bringing her longsword up to parry. A knife, held in her left hand, comes up slash at her opponent, who counters with her ulfbehrt. The crimson eyed warrior swings back at the other girl, who holds her ground. Their movements are perfect, each swing and step in sync with the other’s actions. No slash is without purpose, no step is without necessity. Each action is carefully measured and their opponent’s response is equally perfect. Strangely, they do not fight. This is a dance, their special dance practiced over years and years of partnership. <br/>In sync, both fighters break off.  Their blades are sheathed at the same time, as both pull wooden bows off their backs. Each nock an arrow but do not release it. The violet eyed girl is content to wait out her opponent but the crimson eyed warrior is not so patient. Her arrow is released first, heading toward the other archer. The other girl responds in kind, and their arrows collide. In sync, both pull another arrow from their quivers. They’re nocked and released with milliseconds of one another. Once again, the arrows collide, sending both to the ground. Again, and again they fire at each other, yet each time their arrows hit each other’s. <br/>Around them, people gather, watching their dance. At the conclusion, they are bombarded with queries as they pick up their arrows. They want to know how people so young can be so talented. The teenagers do not respond, seemingly disappearing after the arrows are collected. The answer to the crowd’s burning question? Training, century after century of training with each other. They may look differently than they did when their quest began but such was the price of reincarnation. The Will of Humanity had given them a purpose. It was one they were happy to fulfill, even if they were cursed to live forever, immortalized as mere fairy tales, happy myths told to bright-eyed children.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. On the Subject of Walks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Contains references to Fate/stay night and Hellsing Ultimate Abridged (Which I do not own).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why are we here again?” asked a soft, lilting voice. “Well, it’s one of the mysteries of life, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s just a coincidence on a cosmic scale, or maybe the gods have a plan for us,” was the response coming from a black-haired teenager with odd, blood red, eyes. Walking hand in hand with her was another teenager, with black hair and red tips. Violet eyes rolled as she responded, “No one likes a smart-aleck, Skye. I meant; why are we here, in a town in the middle of nowhere.”<br/>“Oh! Why didn’t you just say so, Sum? We’re here because Arthur has no sense of direction!” The other girl stared. “Skylar. You’re the one that got us lost in the first place. Arthur would have been fine, had the map not been written by a twelve-year old.”<br/>“I did not! I merely guided us on the road of life!” Skylar cheered. “Which has taken us to the middle of nowhere and separated us from the one with the map?” Skylar paused before answering in a tone that was more question than answer, “Yes?” The violet-eyed girl sighed and dragged the other girl by the hand. “I’ll lead from now on. Just, try not to adopt any violent creatures.” <br/>“But Summer! It was only the one time! And Fou was so cute, how could you not love him?” Summer took a deep breath at that comment, trying -and failing- to ignore it. “I could not love Beast of Calamity very easily, thank you. Honestly, where did you even find that thing?”<br/>“Ah, you know; places.”<br/>“Places? Care to clarify?”<br/>“Ah, I went on a walk and-”<br/>“This sounds familiar.”<br/>“- I found myself in the Nevernever. And Fou was just so cute, that I had to take him home.”<br/>“…You need to stop going on walks. First you stumble upon a secret battleground, then it’s Primate Murder, and now you’ve gotten us lost in the middle of nowhere.”<br/>“In my defense, I never meant to do any of those things.”<br/>Summer sighed and shook her head. “That’s the problem. Honestly, you must have enslaved a universe in your past life to earn this much bad karma.”<br/>“Eh? What’d you mean? I have great luck. That so-called war was great fun, I found a cute little pet, and now we’re going on a fantastic adventure!”<br/>Summer suddenly stopped, nearly causing Skylar to crash into her back. “What’s wrong?” Skylar asked. “Well, I just realized I’m in love with someone who would’ve been committed to an asylum had she told anyone other than me,” Summer replied, skipping off ahead of Skylar to hide her grin. <br/>“Hey! I resemble that remark.” <br/>A little way away, a blond haired, green eyed boy watched one of his friends chase the other. He smiled. Those two were odd ducks but who wasn’t?</p><p>“Hey, Arty!” Skylar calls out in a cheerful tone, “I found a thing.”<br/>“Oh dear God. What have you done now?” the blond asks. The female pouts, “It’s a magical artifact that facilitates instantaneous transportation.”<br/>Silence, and then several groans, all in sync. “Skylar. I left you alone for five minutes,” Summer deadpans. “You really should know better by now.”<br/>“Well, she’s got you there,” a third feminine voice replies, amused. <br/>“Don’t rub it in, Morgan. Not all of us have high-level magecraft.”<br/>“Well, us mere mortals have to make do, Summer.” Arthur coughs. “Back on topic, ladies. Please. How do you know what the artifact does, Skylar?”<br/>Skylar slips on a pair of literal rose tinted glasses before replying in a voice that’s devoid of all previous cheer, “Structural Analysis. It’s a genius little device. You picture a place you’ve seen before, and it copies it from your mind. Then, it uses a complex bit of magic-I don’t fully understand it-to trick the World into believing you’re in that place. Of course, Gaia attempts to correct this via your complete annihilation. The energy expended by the World is instead used to ‘combine’ your two existences into one, which is located at your destination.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Perfect Illusions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Professor stands in front of a class of college aged students. "Welcome, everyone," his voice is smooth, elegant. He grins and continues. "If you look at your desks, you'll find a piece of paper. I want you to write down my appearance."<br/>Despite their confusion, the students comply with his request. Once they're finished, The Professor points to an elegant looking girl with white hair and piercing blue eyes. "Tell me, what did you write down?" The girl frowns for a moment before saying, "A middle aged white male, approximately 30-40 years of age. Faded brown hair and warm blue eyes.  Wears glasses, khaki pants and a white dress shirt."<br/>The other students exclaim disbelief, bar one exception. One girl sits away from the others. She has straight black hair that flows to her hips and her slate eyes are half-closed. Unlike the other students, who are wearing their combat attire, she is dressed in a black skirt, a matching shirt and a pink jacket; topped with a grey beret. <br/>The Professor spins around and points to her, "Ophelia! What did you write?" The noirette gives a slight grin before saying, "A delinquent. Female, slight tan, lithe, height of 167 centimeters. crimson riding jacket, dark red Kevlar pants, and matching boots. Aviators hiding fiery crimson eyes." <br/>He gives her a sharp nod before addressing the class. “You'll notice that your desks are separated, so that each of you have a partner. Exchange your paper with them, and see how their observation differs from your own."<br/>Still confused, the students do as they are told. Mutters of confusion fill the room as the students look  to each other for answers. Finding none, they turn to The Professor.<br/>"You're wondering why you all see something different, aren't you? The answer is simple, yet complex. As soon as you set foot in this room, you fell under my control. Whether you realize it or not, you have expectations of everything. Subconsciously, you had an image in mind of what you thought the professor of this class would look like. I have used it to my advantage. You're seeing what you expect to see, not what is actually in front of you."<br/>Reality bent, and the students gape. Their preconceptions of their teacher are gone. A teenaged girl dressed in a crimson riding outfit takes its place, removing off a pair of reflective sunglasses. With a feral grin, The Professor says, "Welcome, to Perfect Illusions, where I will teach you how to bend reality to your will with a carefully cultivated mind."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What have you done?!” she half-screamed, half sobbed. “What I was ordered to,” he answered honestly. She didn’t seem to take comfort in that answer. </p>
<p>
  <i> Three Days Ago</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>His eyes didn’t snap open when he appeared in the courtyard. No, he simply was there one moment, when he wasn’t before. Images of potential futures, as well as the past, flashed through his head as he opened his eyes. A staff-carrying wizard saving a girl trapped in a tower. Their marriage, and the man’s initial death. A beam of darkness taking nearly every life. The woman’s fall to darkness. The rise and fall of countless kingdoms. The world’s greatest war, and the revolution that followed. A brunette being attacked by three people. A black and white beetle extending its claws toward her face. A broken city block. An arc of red energy cutting off an arm. Sadistic golden eyes gleaming as a tower burns. Silver eyes flashing and a dragon turning to stone. A man with a scorpion tail laughing as her attempts kill a silver eyed teen. A snowy city besieged by an army of darkness. He sent an acknowledgement of the visions, and his newest assignment.<br/>It wasn’t anything special. Just another day at the office, so to speak. The dark atmosphere seemed to agree with him. He could almost see the dark clouds that hung-over peoples’ heads. <i></i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Present<br/>He snapped out of his reverie as the girl shook, asking ‘why’ repeatedly. He ignored her, continuing to the task set before him. He told himself that it had to be done. It wasn’t a plea, or a reassurance. Just a statement of fact. The girl’s friends attempted to comfort her while they stared in horror. One of them even screamed that he was a monster. She wasn’t wrong, he mused. He certainly qualified as a monster, considering what he had done. Though, she wouldn’t know that. All she would see was the clinical murder of someone she believed to be innocent.<br/>He wouldn’t have changed the choice he made, though. The one that had gotten him here. He couldn’t really complain about his job. Eternal servitude was a small price to pay for humanity’s future. It was undeniable, he didn’t want to do the horrid things he had done but he wouldn’t change his decision. If he had to become a monster, killing few to save many, he would become a monster. Given the choice again, he would make the same decision he did, over, and over, and over.<br/>He looked down at crimson liquid that stained his hands. In his mind’s eye, it overlapped with many similar scenes, scrubbing his hands raw to get rid of something only he could see. It always haunted him. He looked back up to the girl and her friends. They stared at the horrid scene around them. Dozens of people were strewn about the room, their life-fluid staining the ground red. He didn’t feel much remorse, if any. They were terrorists but he had granted them quick deaths. Each kill was clean, every cut precise. Just as he had been ordered. <br/>He told them as much, but they didn’t seem to find any comfort in it. He didn’t understand why not. His emotions had been mostly repressed long ago, to cope with his actions.</i>
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